


Hello Darkness

by GrumpkinVicky



Series: Promptfics 2020 [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Old Friends, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27229009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpkinVicky/pseuds/GrumpkinVicky
Summary: Prompt/Request : Abelas and Shale have just rescued Cadash Golem (what will her new awesome superhero name be?) from the Black Emporium...where do they take her for her first meal as a free living-statue?
Series: Promptfics 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813141
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	Hello Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FandomN00b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Goodbye, my friend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198580) by [GrumpkinVicky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpkinVicky/pseuds/GrumpkinVicky). 



She’d heard Cullen talk about his dreams often enough that she felt she knew what he meant by emerging from a nightmare to wake up in another. Solas had taken his power, walked away, leaving with her/his light, leaving her in the dark alone and aware. He’d left, without looking back, leaving her trapped in the ruins with all of his other vanquished. She half wondered if they, too, were trapped in this waking nightmare. 

She was aware. She could feel the changing of the seasons against her shell. The heat of the day. The chill of the night. The wind that curled around her form, caressing in one moment and abandoning her in the next. Everything reminding her of what she had lost. 

Until.

Until a spark, a touch as hands, odd hands, tiny hands, touched at her legs, wrapping something slender around them, then her arms, and finally her neck. Panic, as she was pulled forward, landing on something cushioned, a memory of her old mattress. Then it was a sea of sensations as she was moved until it all stopped once more. 

That voice, her waking nightmare complete. For all her eyes could not see, she knew where she was. He had asked for her hand, it seemed he had all of her instead.

Try as she might, to block the sound of him whispering, it echoed through her. The only, only part of all of this madness, the knowledge that only she had access to the Emporium. The hissing tormenting as he spoke of his collection, of his owning her. She had no escape, no solace. No more soft breezes, driving rain, melting snow, now small hands polishing her, the only connection.

“No, no, no, do not touch the statues,” she heard him shout. 

“You have something that does not belong to you,” she heard a voice, a male voice, state clearly. 

“It signed a contract, it belongs to me,” the hissing returned. 

“You overstep your reach with these lies,” the other voice dropped to a growl. She felt a hand, undoing the shackles that kept her from toppling forward from the wooden plinth. 

“It is NOT yours!” her captor screamed, as the collar was undone, and dropped clinking on the floor behind her. 

“Cease your claim, before I allow _them_ in,” the voice became dangerous.

“You have no rights, no invitations! This is my place, my things, leave, leave, leave!” Even without seeing, she knew he’d lost against the stranger who with ease, lifted her down onto the stone floor. 

“We are leaving,” as she was gently picked up once more, hands resting against her middle, as the door creaked open and the feel of rain splattered once more on her arm.

“THIEF!” howled as the door was slammed closed, the droplets bouncing a beat she’d missed locked away in the dry dark of the Emporium. 

“You have it,” a gravelly voice.

“Her,” the male voice corrected.

“It is it, as I am,” the gravelly voice continued.

“No,” before something was placed upon her, a cloak, a hooded cloak, of something soft, covering her from the beating of the rain. 

“It is clear the weaklings grow curious,” the gravelly voice sniffed. The feeling as she was lifted once more, this time by something different, something more akin to stone. Stone. Talking stone. Shale, the only living golem had found her, found her and rescued her. To cry tears of relief would be welcome. “It is heavier than it should be.”

She heard the muffled sound of a snort before the gravelly voice spoke sounding peevish. “I was told it was hollow.”

“ _She_ ,” the male voice corrected again, as the feeling of rain disappeared to that of wind and rocking. “The cargo has been secured, it is time to leave.”

“It is a golem, a small golem. It is an it. I am what it is. It is an it.” Shale said, placing her down upright, facing a window? Spray and wind blowing at her face, not a lot, but enough to know.

“We can ask her when we have returned,” the male voice sounded almost amused. 

“The anvil is gone,” sniffed Shale. “It will need something else to strike the spark back within it.”

“The spark is there,” the hand brushed against her arm, almost as Solas had before he left her, like this. “She is owed.” He sounded almost annoyed by that. 

The steady murmur of conversation, as Shale and the man, discussed flesh and death, as the waves bobbed them gently across the waking sea. She drifted, unseeing, barely listening, calmly feeling the creaks and moans of the wood as it hit each wave. How would it feel, to sink beneath the waves to the bottom, to the dark silt? The tendrils of the weeds that sucked unwitting swimmers to their deaths that once seemed so perilous now almost a comfort to imagine.

“I met her once.” The male spoke softly, and she was reluctantly dragged back from the dark abyss to their company. “She fought with honour, something lacking in this new world.” He sounded bitter.

“Have you ever known honour?” the surprisingly bitter tone from Shale.

“Once.” Came the quiet reply. 

“It had a name?” a truce, between the two rescuers.

“She was, the Inquisitor, Malika Cadash,” he sounded louder as if facing her.

“Cadash?” Shale asked, sounding different for a moment.

“Yes,” he paused, “Malika Cadash of the Carta. A renowned smuggler before taking up reluctantly the mantle of Herald of Andraste, then Inquisitor of the Inquisition.” 

She could feel stone trace her features randomly, and soft mutterings from Shale. “House Cadash, again.” “Wynne would have something to say.” “Cadash, it does not look like a Cadash.” “Perhaps the Cadash nose, a noble nose.” “Carta, if one can not rule, then to subvert perhaps a better cause.”

“I was once a Cadash, back when I was weak in the flesh, it is better this way. The only enemy now is the pigeon.” Shale growled the last part out. “The old elf is not aware of the connection between you and I, you will not speak of it with the old elf.”

“A shame that Caridin fell, he would have enjoyed the challenge. The elf believes you can hear that you are aware. I was aware and trapped once. Filthy wretches rubbed together, right beneath me, it is fortunate that you did not have this happen to you.” 

In between Shale’s confessions, the male elf would lay hands on her arms, with an odd sense of respect. “The debt is not paid.” It was somewhat comforting, almost a promise that they, he, would not leave her alone like this again. 

“It is not wise to put metal in front of a fire,” Shale woke her from the drifting with an insulted gravel.

“The Mother’s daughter does not breathe fire,” the male elf responded with as much insult. 

“The swamp witch has not lost the arrogance, making the old elf dance on its strings,” Shale sniffed.

“The _Mother’s daughter_ , has you on the same strings,” came the reply.

“The swamp witch is lucky I do not crush it’s tiny, bird-like head for thinking so!” 

“The _Mother’s daughter_ is no swamp witch.” 

“How easily old elf is fooled, swamp witch has changed little, if it wants to help, it is only to help itself,” Shale growled.

“She is owed a great debt, the _**Mother’s daughter**_ is only repaying. She is truly her **Mother’s daughter** , you would be mistaken for underestimating her.” 

They growled at each other for the rest of the voyage, only speaking without ire to her shell. “If the swamp witch does not cure, there are other ways.” Shale gravelled.

Being carried from the boat to a cart? The bouncing on a rough track familiar, before being carried once more by the now silent male. The feel of cool breeze, the hint of damp, if she could only smell she might be able to tell where they were. Her two saviours at odds once more over the swamp witch/Mother’s daughter naming leaving only the occasional sound of birdsong and screeching from nugs to break the unknown.

“’Twas not a lie, after all, she will be insufferable,” that voice, there was only one person it could be. She wasn’t sure if that was of comfort or not. Morrigan was a mystery to decipher at the best of times, both cursing and thanking for the Well of Sorrows. For even a place in Skyhold. 

“Inquisitor, I can not fathom why you didst not turn to me, did I not have the tools to help?” If she could, she would have hung her head in shame. It had not once occurred to her that Morrigan, who had access to the very knowledge that cursed her, would be able to help. So wrapped up in the lies Solas whispered in her ears, she’d not asked for help from anyone. Too scared of what they would do when they discovered the Inquisitor was changing into something else. “Though it is most peculiar. Did the Dread Wolf know?” 

There was no doubt that he had not, but how she could communicate it when trapped inside this. It was clear she did not need to as Morrigan continued to walk around her, touching her shell with the same light respectful touches, the male elf had.

“Abelas, you felt it?” Morrigan asked, her hand resting on the place where her heart once was. The steady beat that once soothed Cullen to sleep now gone. 

“The faintest echo,” came the response.

“The old elf has faith in the swamp witch, I wouldn’t be upset if swamp witch proved me wrong.”

“How I have missed you,” Shale laughed at the dishonesty in Morrigan’s voice. 

“The sister has faith in the swamp witch, it is curious to see how the years have treated each. Once the sister babbled, and now she talks. And the swamp witch has become the mother.” The sound of a strike of lightning, if she could smell, she was sure she could smell it too, followed by more grating laughter. “The old elf believes that was meant to hurt.”

“Next you will be bringing up past dalliances,” Morrigan sniffed. “Was there a need to say that?”

“It keeps the swamp witch on her toes. Old elf bends too easily,” this time the sniff came from Abelas, as Shale continued to laugh.

“A drop should be enough,” Morrigan returned to touching, her hands warm, pressing against the shell. “I believe this will settle the debt between us.”

Colour. The memory hadn’t done it justice, as the sheer beauty of green filled her vision—a glade, full of colour, glorious, wonderful colour. The details were muddled but the colour of it, that was enough to bring her to her knees, and it did.

She could move. 

She’d been brought to her knees, staring at the colours that surrounded them, all the shades of green.

“I did not respond like that,” Shale sniffed.

“You chose your fate,” Morrigan commented. “The Inquisitor did not. Yet you both have the same fate, ‘tis curious is it not, that the only two golems like you, are both from House Cadash.” 

There was a grinding sound, but Cadash was too swept up in being able to move. She’d rolled onto her back to stare up at the sky, to see the light as it fell down upon her. 

“Th- thank you,” her voice sounded rusty, and her lips odd in their movement. 

“A debt is paid, ‘tis nought.” Morrigan dismissed.

“It is everything,” she said, rolling with less fluidity than she had before, but still managing to get to her feet without much effort. “It is everything, thank you.” 

Morrigan looked uncomfortable, even with the lack of detail. 

“Swamp witch is above the emotions that curse her kind,” Shale said, standing before her dwarfing her with her height. “As your elder, you will come with me.”

“Inquisitor,” Abelas, or the form she was sure was Abelas, gave a small movement. “You are owed. Until it is paid, I am in your debt.”

“I’m confused?” She still had no knowledge of any debt between them.

“Twice owed,” Morrigan added with a hint of spite.

“The Dread Wolf extends his apologies for not honouring the last request of a friend.” It came out stilted, with Shale growling. 

“A debt owed by another, the old elf is addled with age,” Shale snorted. 

“You returned the Mother, in part, to us,” Abelas sounded less stilted.

“Inquisitor, this has been… delightful. It would be wise to avoid those who once knew you, for a time. The method of which was used to return your control, is,” Morrigan paused, “It will take time to regain full control.”

“Will I ever be what I was?” She couldn’t help but ask, even as she knew the answer.

The silence confirmed.

“I once sought a return to the weakness of the flesh, it is better this way.” Shale clapped her on the shoulder, the sound of stone hitting metal clanging loudly.

Morrigan left soon after, pressing a hand to Cadash’s shoulder without a word. A camp was set, with Shale muttering about weak old elves needing comfort, Abelas ignoring the comments.

“We were, unsure if you would want to eat.” He said carefully, as Shale made another grating snorting sound.

“A pigeon’s only use is to eat it.”

“I haven’t for a long time,” she gave a weak smile, he was trying. 

“See, the old elf is addled.”

“Thank you for the offer.” She made sure not to look at Shale, as the golem seemingly took offence to any siding with the elf. They were both of House Cadash, they were both the same, her loyalties should align. 

“The sister told of a rumour,” Shale ignored the slight, as the night settled like a blanket around them. “Of the Sha-bytol.”

The glade was filled, filled with what happened, deep within the ground. Where the titan dwell, while Shale passed comment and Abelas stayed quiet.

“It must have been defective if it chose another above House Cadash.” Shale sniffed. “It is unwise to remain surface-bound, the Warden King has word of new roads. As weak-willed as it once was, there is merit in exploring and finding a better being for House Cadash.”

“Abelas?” Cadash lifted her head, now able to make out the features beyond colours on his head.

“Until the debt is paid,” he replied quietly, the sound merging with the crackling of the fire.

Her downfall had come from the sky, perhaps her future would be brighter beneath the surface. If nothing else, the easy familiarity of her new companions warmed her through where the fire had failed. Family was found and forged—a glance to Shale, who gave a small nod. The warmth spread, heating to a roaring furnace. She had a future.


End file.
